


untitled vent #3

by ilovemygaydad



Category: Sander Sides, Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovemygaydad/pseuds/ilovemygaydad
Summary: (in case you were wondering where the other two vents are, they're exclusively on my blog. this one was good enough for both)summary: this is literally just some roman hurt/comfortwarnings: self hatred, creative block, crying, negative feelings, mentions of anxiety, a couple of swears, and possibly something else





	untitled vent #3

“I’m sad.”

Virgil looks up with a start towards Roman. They’d both been sitting on opposite ends of the couch for some time; Virgil had been engrossed in watching _Ancient Aliens_ on the TV, and Roman had been writing in a spiral notebook. After a while, they had just fallen into companionable silence, which was just fine in Virgil’s opinion, but Roman’s eyes had become a bit glossy as he stared down at the notebook. His pen was completely still.

“I’m _sad_, Virgil,” he repeated, and his expression pinched.

“Ro...” Virgil didn’t even know where to begin to unpack the emotional truth-bomb that had just been dropped between them. Yeah, things between them had been steadily getting better in the two years since he’d ducked out (quack), but the whole “friendship” thing didn’t mean that they, like, shared their emotions. Virgil would occasionally pop into Roman’s room and say, _Hey, sorry, but I’m feeling a bit fucked right now. Can I lay in your bed and listen to you create for a bit?_ That was the extent of the feelings, though! And Roman had just admitted that he was _sad_, which is an emotion that Virgil hadn’t even thought Princey was physically capable up until this point, so what the hell was he going to do?

“How do you do it? How can you deal with being so... _upset_ all the time? Fuck, Virge, you’ve been upset your whole existence.”

Slowly, Virgil moved himself to kneel on the floor next to where Roman was situated on the couch. “Ro, what’s wrong?”

The creative side finally turned his head to look at him, and Virgil saw the pain in his eyes. “I feel like a failure.”

“It’s okay to feel like a failure,” Virgil whispered carefully, trying to make sure that he didn’t overwhelm Roman. “Do you know why you’re feeling this way?”

“I can’t create. I need to, and I really wish that I could, but my brain is just _stuck_ because it doesn’t want to create. I have ideas and inspiration, yet the drive to write things down is completely gone!” A few tears rolled down his cheeks as he let out a frustrated huff.

“I’m sure that’s really frustrating.”

Roman nodded. “It is! Not only is it my _job_ to create, but... what am I worth if I don’t make things?”

“Oh, Roman...” Virgil said. His heart broke for the prince, who looked like a poor copy of his usual self. “You’re so much more than the things you create. You’re Thomas’ creativity, yes, but you’re also his dreams and hopes. You encapsulate his love of the dramatic--his passion for _existing_. You’re a portion of his ego, and most importantly, you’re our _prince_!

“Look. Things may not seem very great right now, and they might not seem too good for a while, but you’ve gotta realize that we--all of us--love you no matter what. Even when you’re selfish or rude or misguided. Because we love _you_. No matter your flaws.”

Romans face twisted more, and Virgil was Very Scared that he’d managed to throw the creative side into the deep end of depression when more tears streamed down his face.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean to upset you more--”

“_Thank you_,” Roman sobbed, discarding his notebook to lean down and wrap his arms around the anxious side’s shoulders.

“Oh...”

“Thank you so, so, so, so _much_, Virgil. I can’t even believe that I thought so poorly of you for so long--like, gosh, you’re so _good_.” The words were mostly smothered in Virgil’s hoodie, but neither of them cared, really.

“It’s okay, Ro. You’re gonna be just fine.”

And he would. Things were going to be just fine.


End file.
